


Stay Close to Me

by deanniker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is kind of a dragon, How to Train Your Dragon AU, Hurt/Comfort, I still don't know how tags work, Language Barrier, Leviathans, M/M, Shapeshifting Castiel, there's some torture in chapter two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is stupid," Dean grumbled for the hundredth time as he hacked his way through the brush. "No way did you hit the alpha, Sammy."</p><p>Or,</p><p>Dean goes searching for a dragon and finds something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was spawned by me idly looking at my How To Train Your Dragon 2 poster and picturing Toothless with blue eyes instead of green. My favorite movie and favorite TV show together? Yes. 
> 
> Plot and characters stolen and manipulated shamelessly. I own neither of these beauties. In fact, they pretty much own me.

"This is stupid," Dean grumbled for the hundredth time as he hacked his way through the brush. "No way did you hit the alpha, Sammy."

His brother did not answer, as he was currently at home, no doubt comfortable and warm. Dean should be at home too, not hacking his way through the forest looking for a dragon, but Sam had pulled out the puppy dog eyes. Dean could have let Sam go himself, but Sam was young, and he'd refused to set foot in dragon training. Sam might be tall and strong but he was also clumsy, and  _if_ he had brought down the alpha, there was no way Dean was letting Sam anywhere near it. 

Dean stubbed his toe on a root and sighed irritably. He'd been at this for hours. At least he was nearing the end of where it might have landed. Sam said that after he'd hit it, the dragon veered to the east. If he didn't find it soon, Sam must have been mistaken. 

If it had been anyone but Sam, Dean would have ignored their claims outright. Sam was truthful to a fault, though, so Dean had no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

There was a rustling to his right, and Dean drew his sword. A moment later a rabbit hopped across his path, and Dean relaxed, feeling ridiculous.

Although... the rabbit had come from under a tree. A freshly fallen tree. The trunk was violently splintered. Dean crept forward quietly, peering around the trunk. He could see a path of broken and trampled undergrowth leading east. Despite his doubts, his heart sped up in anticipation.

Keeping his sword out, he followed the trail of destruction as quickly and quietly as he could.

Eventually, he came to the edge of a cliff. Peering over, he saw that it wasn't a cliff at all, but a hollow, ringed on all sides by walls of stone. The floor was grassy and dotted with small bushes, and there was a small pond off to one side. 

More importantly, in the center, was a dragon.

Dean could hardly believe it. Sam had done it. He'd brought down a dragon - not just any dragon, but the one no one had ever seen - the alpha. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that this was the alpha; he'd never seen a dragon like it. It was large, close to the largest that Dean had seen, but what removed all doubt was its color. The dragon was as black as night. All the other dragons were pale and colorful. It was no wonder no one had ever seen it. Sam said he'd brought it down by watching for it against the stars.

The net Sam had shot was wound tightly around the dragon. It had burned a hole around its head, so that meant it was probably still alive. The rest of its body still looked secured. 

Dean cursed himself for not bringing a crossbow. From this distance, he could have killed it without having to get close. For a moment he debated going back to the village for a crossbow and some help, but he discarded the idea. He couldn't just leave it here. It might get away, and if he let the _alpha_ escape he would be a sorry excuse for a warrior of the village. He had no choice but to kill it at close range. 

He scanned the walls of the hollow, looking for a way down, or more accurately, a way back up. He saw a likely spot to his left, and after examining it as best as he could from the awkward angle, decided that the series of ledges and handholds were consistent all the way to the bottom. To be safe, he tied a rope to a tree and threw it down. It didn't reach all the way, but if he had trouble near the top it would help. He sheathed his sword, and with one final look at the dragon, began making his way down. It was relatively easy going, but Dean knew it would be more difficult on the way up, especially if he was carrying a dragon head. 

When Dean reached the bottom, he turned around to find the dragon staring at him. He knew it had been facing the other direction when he'd started down; it must have flipped itself around somehow. It opened its mouth, and Dean heard the familiar whooshing sound the alpha made before it breathed fire. He dove behind the nearest boulder. 

The fire hit the rock wall a few feet to the left of where Dean had been standing. Dean peeked around the rock and saw the dragon's open mouth. He pulled his head back quickly. This time the fire struck a few feet above his head.

Dean drew his knife. He'd never been the best at knife throwing, preferring to take dragons down with his sword, but if he could wound it long enough to get close...

Dean took a deep breath and hurled his knife at the dragon as quickly as he could before ducking back behind the boulder. The dragon let out a bellow. 

Dean risked a glance, saw his knife embedded in the dragon's shoulder, and broke into a sprint. He got a few seconds before the dragon realized he was charging. It opened its mouth. 

Whoosh. Fire soared to Dean's left.

Whoosh. The ground in front of Dean burst into flames. He leapt over it and kept running. 

Whoosh. This time the fire sailed above Dean's head. Then he was there, far enough to the dragon's side that it had no hope of turning its head far enough to kill him.

Dean drew his sword. At the sound, the dragon tried to shuffle away, but bound as it was it, it couldn't go far. He moved up along the dragon's flank cautiously. Once he was within reach, he placed a hand on the dragon's head to keep it still, and with the other he raised his sword high. The dragon bucked its head frantically, and as Dean struggled to keep the dragon under control, the pattern of scorch marks caught his eye. 

The alpha  _never_ missed. It hit its target every time, but it had shot at Dean five times and Dean was still breathing. It must have known his intentions, especially after he'd thrown a knife at it, but it still hadn't killed him. 

Those had been warning shots: warning shots of something that had been bluffing. Dean backed away, and the dragon went still. Its eyes were wide. It looked as confused as Dean felt. 

"Damn it," Dean said, and despite every instinct and all his training telling him otherwise, he began to cut away the net.

When he cut three of its legs free, the dragon sprang up and pounced. It pinned Dean to the ground with its uninjured leg and stared into him. Its eyes were huge, blue, and angry.

Dean braced himself. Maybe it had been tricking him into freeing it before it killed him. If it had been, it was a gamble that paid off. Dean was at its mercy. It opened its mouth and roared. The air that rushed through his hair was hot and smelled like fire, but it didn't burn.

When it stopped, the dragon flapped its wings and flew away. It didn't get too far before it landed awkwardly, but Dean was grateful for the extra space. For a moment he just stayed on his back, his pulse pounding in his ears. Then he got up slowly, picking up his sword with trembling fingers. His knife was still hilt-deep in the dragon, but there was no way in hell that Dean was going over there to get it. He backed away until he could feel the rock wall at his back. The dragon never took its eyes off him.

He skirted along the edge until he reached the spot where he'd come down. He swallowed hard, drummed up some courage, and turned his back to start the climb.

Even though he couldn't see the dragon, he knew it was watching him. He felt extremely vulnerable. If the dragon wanted him dead, he'd be a burnt stain on the side of the rock.

It was with relief, and not a little surprise, that Dean pulled himself over the edge. He coiled up the rope and headed home, all the while wondering what the hell he was doing.

*

When Dean got home, Sam was waiting at the door, practically shaking with excitement. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "Did you find it? Was it the alpha?"

Dean sighed. "You definitely hit something," he said. He couldn't lie to his brother completely, not when it would make him miserable. "By the time I got there it had burned its way out of the net."

Sam looked disappointed, but at least he didn't look crushed. "But I hit something?"

"Yeah."

"It was the alpha," Sam said confidently. "It must have been. No other dragon is clever enough to escape a net."

"Probably not," Dean conceded. "In any case, you downed one of them, so it looks like your weird-ass net thrower worked, at least."

Sam nodded. His expression turned to one of intense concentration. "I'll make adjustments. Maybe if the net is tighter, or heavier, it'll stay down next time." He ran off to his room. Dean sighed and went to his own room. Now that he was back in the village, with the houses peppered in burn marks and the streets scorched, he felt ashamed. What did it matter that the alpha hadn't tried to kill him? It had killed plenty of people before. Any time someone got close enough to kill a dragon, they invariably were attacked by the alpha.

Dean paused: every time someone got close enough to kill a dragon - that was the only time the alpha ever attacked. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think the alpha had ever stolen food from them, or attacked first. 

Dean's head hurt.

*

The next week led to another raid by the dragons, and Dean was able to channel his frustration into a bout of good, old-fashioned, dragon killing. The dragons were the same as they always were - intent on carrying off food and more than happy to kill anyone who got in their way.

"The alpha wasn't there," Sam said at the end of the night, a triumphant expression on his face despite his singed hair. Sam's net throwing machine had brought down a dragon, and they were able to take it alive. Pride was rolling off him in waves. "Maybe I injured it when I brought it down."

"Maybe," Dean said, thinking about how the dragon hadn't flown away when he released it. 

The dragon still hadn't flown away. Peering over the top of the hollow, Dean could clearly see that one of its wings was injured, maybe broken. It was limping as well; Dean could see the glint of his knife in the sun. As Dean watched, it jumped up, jaws snapping at some birds that quickly flew out of the reach of the alpha's jaws. It watched them go, and then jumped against the rocks. Dean could hear its claws trying to dig in, but they slipped and the dragon fell back. 

Whoosh. Instinct caused Dean to duck, but once again the dragon's fire wouldn't have killed him. With slightly more confidence, he looked back over the edge. 

The dragon was glaring at him. There was no other word for it; even at this distance, Dean could see that its eyes were narrowed into slits.

The next day, Dean came back with a sheep. It was old and sick, and he doubted anyone would miss it. Sometimes the dragons managed to steal one by stealth, and sometimes less flashy carnivores got into their herds. 

He tossed the bleating sheep over the edge with a wince. After a few seconds, during which he didn't hear anything, he peered into the hollow.

The dragon was staring at the sheep. The fall had killed it. Dean felt a little bad about that, but he was feeding it to a dragon, and it was probably better for it to go out on the drop.

The dragon's eyes flicked to Dean. It was a smart, observant creature, Dean gave it that much. It sniffed the sheep tentatively and dragged it back to the other side of the hollow. Interestingly, it lit the sheep on fire for a few seconds before devouring it. 

No one had ever seen a dragon eat its food. Dean felt almost like he was witnessing a secret, and for some reason it made him feel uncomfortable. He backed away slowly. 

The next day, he brought a bigger sheep, some fishing line, a needle, and his normal first aid kit. He also brought a length of rope. 

He tossed the sheep in first, and once the alpha dragged it to the opposite side, Dean made his way down the rock face. He could feel the dragon watching him, but it didn't even fire a warning shot. By this point, Dean felt no fear, but to be on the safe side, he unbuckled his sword and let it fall to the ground before he advanced. He kept his hands up to show he was unarmed. The dragon's eyes flicked between his sword and his empty hands. Dean could  _see_ the intelligence in them.

"Hey, buddy," Dean said as he got close, keeping his voice low and soothing. The dragon's ears twitched. "You just keep eating, don't mind me."

The dragon didn't eat, just watched him. Dean decided that was fair. The last time they'd been this close, Dean had almost killed it.

"You can eat, it's okay," Dean repeated. He pointed at the sheep, then tapped his throat and exaggerated a swallowing motion. The dragon looked down at the sheep. Damn, it was smart. It lowered its head and started to eat cautiously. Dean took another step closer. He was almost there.

"Alright, buddy, this will hurt but only for a sec, okay?" The dragon paused at the sound of his voice, but after a second it kept eating. Dean took a deep breath and lunged forward, grabbing the knife and yanking it out of the dragon's shoulder. He had a moment of victory, and then the dragon backhanded him and he soared through the air. It was on him almost immediately, a foot on his chest and growling in his face as Dean tried to regain his breath.

It stopped suddenly, looking down at Dean's leg and backing up. Dean looked down as well, and saw that he'd slashed his leg open. 

"Shit," Dean said. "Guess this is what I get for trying to help a dragon, huh?"

The dragon twitched. It almost looked guilty. Dean was starting to think that this was all a really bizarre dream. Maybe he'd been hit on the head and was hallucinating everything while he drooled in a bed somewhere. 

"It's okay," Dean reassured it. That was another indication that this was the result of blunt force trauma: he was reassuring a  _dragon_. "I brought some supplies. I thought they'd be for you, but whatever." He was extremely grateful that he'd brought extra supplies. He did not like the idea of being stuck with a dragon as its only source of protein, no matter how strange the dragon was. 

It watched him as he sewed himself together. Luckily, it wasn't a deep gash. Dean shouldn't have much trouble climbing the rock wall, though it was sure to hurt.

When he was done, the dragon came closer. Dean froze as it inspected his leg. Then, it sat on its haunches and looked at its shoulder. It looked back at Dean and cocked its head.

"Um, yeah," Dean nodded. "That was my plan." He dug out the fishing line and held it up with the needle. "May I?"

The dragon regarded him for a moment, and then lowered itself to the ground. It held its foreleg out so that Dean could easily see the wound.

"Okay then," Dean said, moving closer and laying a tentative hand next to the wound. "Don't knock me around this time."

The dragon hissed with every pull of the needle, but it didn't shake Dean off. When it was done, he patted it and said. "Great job, buddy. Now for the wings." He reached up and touched the base of the wing.

Instantly, the dragon went berserk. It spun out of Dean's reach and growled, low and terrifying.

"Whoa," Dean shouted. "Don't freak out, I just want to check it out." He reached for the wing again, and this time the dragon shot fire. It missed Dean's hand by only a few inches, the closest it had ever been. "Whoa," Dean yelled again, jumping back. "Okay! No wings, fine. Next time, huh?"

The next time went no better. Neither did the time after that. It was bizarre, because the dragon grew more and more comfortable with Dean's presence but more distrustful at the same time. It wouldn't even flinch when he inspected its shoulder, but the moment Dean reached back it went nuts. It even started started to recognize the word, "wing," and every time Dean said it, it backed away and shot fire. 

Eventually, Dean lost it. "What do you want me to do about it?" he shouted. "I can't keep bringing you sheep everyday, buddy. Sooner or later someone will catch me. Do you want to be stuck in here forever?" Dean gestured to the walls of the hollow.

The dragon looked up, and Dean took the opportunity to get closer. The dragon whipped its head toward him and growled. 

"Come on," Dean yelled, frustrated. "You can't climb out of here. I've seen you try. And I sure as hell can't haul you out. You eat too much food." He pointed to the growing pile of sheep bones in the corner and made a 'too much' gesture. "I can't keep stealing them, buddy," Dean added quietly.

The dragon narrowed its eyes and took a few steps back. A sudden light emanated from it, the pure white of its fire, and Dean blinked at the intensity.

When his eyes cleared, the dragon was gone, and in its place there was a man. A man with dark hair and blue eyes and an aggressive stance.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed.

The man cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. 

"Holy shit," Dean repeated, the wings temporarily forgotten. "Um, hi," he said, waving. 

The man mirrored him, waving his own hand. 

"Uh," Dean was at a loss. "Can you speak? You know, words?" He tried to mime talking.

The man frowned and opened his mouth. "Dragons," he said, and  _holy shit_ he sounded like one. His voice was deep and harsh. It sounded like at any moment he might break into a roar. "Fire," he continued. "Kill them."

Dean had certainly shouted those words often during dragon raids. It made sense that he'd picked them up. 

The man - dragon - who knew - tilted his head. "Wing." Then, less sure: "Buddy."

Dean smiled encouragingly. "Buddy, yeah, that's you. Well, not really, do you have a name?" The dragon blinked at him. "You know, I'm Dean." This was hard. "Dean," he said, tapping himself twice on the chest. He leaned down and tapped twice on a rock. "Rock." He did the same for the grass, and pointed at the dragon. Man. Whatever.

He frowned. Dean repeated the motions, and halfway through comprehension dawned in the dragon's eyes. The dragon stepped forward. He tapped Dean twice on the chest. "Dean." He tapped on the rocks and repeated, "rock." He knelt on the ground and said, "grass." He tapped himself twice on the chest and closed his eyes. It looked like he was thinking, so Dean waited patiently. Finally, the man opened his mouth. Castiel." He opened his eyes and repeated it. "Castiel." He smiled.

*

Castiel still wouldn't let Dean touch his wings. 

Well, Dean wasn't sure  _what_ they were now. They lay flat against his back in miniature versions of themselves. Castiel never let Dean get close, but from what Dean could see they were built into the skin. They were the same color, the same as Castiel's hair, but Dean didn't think Castiel could move them. 

Dean's head hurt. He didn't know if all dragons were like this or if it was just Castiel, and he lacked the common language to find out.

Castiel wouldn't let Dean anywhere near his back, but he accepted all the food Dean brought. Eventually, he even let Dean cajole him into some pants. After the amount of effort that took (days of wearing him down with bribes of pie) Dean was pretty sure convincing Castiel wasn't an option.

Dean eventually resorted to trickery. In addition to his unfortunate wing situation, Castiel's shoulder also needed attention. Stitches sewn into a dragon didn't hold when Castiel was a man. Dean approached with pie. He hoped it would be the last time he had to, because pie was much harder to steal and a lot more expensive than the bread and meat Dean could sneak off with now that Castiel didn't eat so much. 

Castiel eyed him warily and shook his head as Dean came toward him. 

"No wings," Dean said, placing the pie on a rock. Castiel looked at the pie longingly, but he still didn't look convinced. Dean tapped his shoulder twice. "Shoulder."

Castiel looked down and threaded one of his fingers through the loose stitches, tugging on them gently. It was disgusting. Dean was positive he was going to have to clean it out. Hopefully it wasn't too badly infected. "Shoulder," Castiel said thoughtfully. He nodded to Dean and took a few steps closer to sit on a rock.

Dean cheered internally as Cas let him look at the stitches. It  _was_ infected, but it didn't look so bad as to be spreading into the bloodstream. Dean set some water to boil as he pulled out the stitches. Once that was finished, he dipped his knife into the boiling water. "This is gonna hurt, Castiel," he said. "I'm sorry."

Castiel blinked at him, the same way he always did when Dean used new words. That's when Dean began cutting away at the infected flesh. Castiel growled and clenched his hands into Dean's shirt, but he made no move to push Dean away. He whimpered when Dean cut in deeper.

Dean shushed him. "I know it hurts. It'll be okay."

"Hurts," said Castiel. Then louder and more sure, he repeated it. " _Hurts._ "

"Yeah that's right," Dean said, because at least Castiel learned a new word. "It hurts."

He worked as quickly as he could, stopping often to clean and resterilize the knife. When he finished, he dipped the needle and thread into the boiling water too, to be on the safe side. He really did not want to have to go back in there.

"Okay, Castiel," he said tying off the final stitch. "All done."

"All done," Castiel repeated, tapping his fingers along the line of stitches.

"Yeah," Dean agreed and yanked Cas forward off the rock. Castiel fell with a stunned cry, but before he could get up, Dean pinned his arms to the ground with his knees. "This'll only take a second, okay?"

"No," Castiel gasped into the ground.

Dean ignored him. This had to happen or the wing would never heal properly. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

As Dean had thought, the skin of the wings were flush with the skin of Castiel's back, with only the color to show where one ended and the other began. Like this, the bones looked like scar tissue or thick cartilage, and Dean could see one of the bones had been snapped and pulled out of place. He could probably push it back though, and position it so that it healed straight. He was about to do it when Castiel shuddered beneath him and whispered "No, Dean, please."

It wasn't the words that stopped him - Castiel had learned  _no, please,_ and  _more_  on practically the first day - it was the way Castiel said them, desperately and resigned at the same time. He was shaking and drawing in little hitching breaths. Castiel seemed truly scared, in a way he hadn't been even when Dean was about to kill him.

This was more than fearing a few seconds of pain. Dean backed away.

He had expected Castiel to bolt, but he didn't. He just drew himself into a ball and rolled onto his side so that Dean couldn't see the wings anymore. He kept breathing in a shallow, panicked way.

"Cas," Dean whispered, at a loss. He reached out and Castiel flinched away. "I'm sorry," Dean said, though he wasn't sure what he'd done. "Here, let me explain." He picked up a stick and etched a rough outline of wings in the dirt. Castiel uncurled himself slightly to watch, and his breathing calmed down. "That's what it should look like, but yours-" Dean snapped the stick and tried to approximate the position of the broken bone. "Yours is like that."

Castiel reached out and touched the broken stick. "Hurts."

"Yeah, that's why it hurts. All I want to do is..." Dean pushed the broken stick back into place. "That's all, I just want to fix it. I'm not gonna do anything else."

"No," Castiel said, curling himself back into a ball and shaking his head vehemently. "No. Please, Dean."

Dean sighed. "We've got to fix it. Otherwise it won't get better."

Castiel just shook his head.

Dean leaned back and tried to think. If push came to shove, he could overpower Castiel and just do it, but Dean really did not want to. They'd built up a tentative system of trust, and Dean didn't want to ruin it anymore than he already had. "Okay," he said slowly. "What if you do it?" Castiel blinked at him. "You know," Dean reached behind with his hand and touched his own back to demonstrate. 

Castiel bit his lip and nodded. He reached back slowly. "Wait," Dean said, and even though he didn't think Castiel knew the word, he paused. "Can I see? I won't touch, I promise."

Castiel rolled onto his stomach so that Dean could see again. Even he seemed hesitant to touch, and it clicked suddenly. Dean was an idiot for not understanding it sooner. 

From day one of dragon training, warriors were taught that the wings were the most vulnerable part of a dragon's body, and arguably the most important. Dean pushing bones around would be like having an enemy rearrange the bones in his throat.

It wasn't working. Castiel couldn't see the bones, and he was too hesitant to find them by groping. Dean slid a hand under Castiel's shoulder and placed the other one right below the elbow. Castiel tensed, but relaxed after a few seconds and let Dean guide his hand to the proper spot.

Castiel shook and moaned as he pushed and prodded the bone into place, but to Dean's relief, it moved readily and they didn't have to rebreak it. He made Castiel pinch the two halves together at the break, and once it looked okay he let go of Castiel's arm and gave him some space. "All done?" Castiel asked, voice shaking.

"All done," Dean affirmed, and he kissed the top of Castiel's trembling head.

Castiel gave him a shaky smile and asked, "More pie?"

Dean laughed.

*

Dean was growing unreasonably fond of Castiel. He brought him new kinds of food every day, and sometimes he brought him other stuff, small things he could easily carry with him as he snuck out of town. It was ridiculous, because Castiel was a  _dragon,_ and it wasn't like the other dragons had stopped attacking them. If anything, the attacks had grown more frequent. 

Sam had noticed Dean leaving every day, and Dean was pretty sure the only reason he hadn't asked Dean where he was going was because he was busy, working on his net thrower and who knows what else. Bobby noticed too, and shot him strange looks whenever Dean bumped into him, but Dean got good at avoiding him. Dean knew what he was doing - sheltering a dragon - was wrong, but leaving Castiel to fend for himself, trapped in the hollow with no source of food, was unthinkable.

So, Dean spent his nights fighting dragons and his days teaching a dragon words like bread and cheese and eyeglasses. 

Castiel loved everything, but the thing he loved the most was the small book Dean brought one day. Castiel couldn't read, and Dean didn't bother trying to teach him, but he flicked through the pages reverently.

The next day, Dean searched through their storage space until he found a box of Sam's old children's books. He brought the entire box with him to visit Castiel, taking extra care not to be seen.

Castiel's eyes lit up the moment he saw what was in the box. "Books," he said happily, and started turning the pages of the first one he picked up. He made a noise of surprise when he saw that it was illustrated. "What is this?" He asked Dean, tapping the picture.

"A picture. This is a picture book."

"A picture book," Castiel repeated, nodding. He turned the page and frowned. "What is this?" Dean kept quiet. He wanted to see if Castiel could figure it out on his own. Castiel flipped between the two pages and frowned deeper. Then, his expression cleared. "Also a picture?"

Dean nodded and knelt beside him. "They're of different things. So this is a picture of a castle," he explained, pointing to the first page. "And that's a picture of a lake."

Castiel was still frowning, so Dean flipped through until he found an image Castiel might have a better chance of understanding. "Here," he said, when he came across a picture of a sword. "Picture of a sword," he said, tapping it. He drew his own sword and held it out. "Sword."

"Ah," Castiel said, eyes lighting up. Dean grinned. He loved it when Castiel  _got_ something. He flipped the page. "Water," Castiel said. "Tree." He flipped over the next page and looked at Dean curiously. "What is this picture?"

"What is this a picture of?" Dean corrected. "It's a bear."

Castiel nodded and leaned closer to Dean as he flipped through the pages. He knew some of the words, and whenever he came across a picture he didn't know he looked at Dean questioningly.

When he flipped a page toward the end of the story, Castiel shook his head and frowned. Dean laughed when he saw the picture. "That's kissing, Cas."

"Kissing?" Castiel said skeptically, frowning at the picture. 

"That's a kiss. It's when you touch someone else with your lips."

"Why?" Castiel asked. He brought his hand up to his own lips and let his fingers linger there. 

"They love each other," Dean explained.

"Love?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Love is... well, you feel it here." He placed a hand over his heart. Castiel frowned and placed his hand over Dean's. "No, man," Dean said, laughing. He moved Castiel's hand to his chest. "If you love someone, when you see them, you feel happy there. Warm," he added, because he wasn't sure if Castiel really understood emotions yet. Castiel was still frowning in confusion, so Dean went on. "Um, you're sad when they're sad or hurt. You're happy when they're happy."

"Ah," Castiel said, flattening his hand and nodding. "Love." He tilted his head. "You love me?"

"What?" Dean sputtered. "No!"

"You kissed me."

Dean shook his head. "That was a different type of kiss. When both people touch lips, it means love. When you kiss someone on the head it usually means, 'Don't worry.' Or, 'It'll be okay.' You don't have to love someone to do it. I mean, you have to like them, but you can just be friends."

"We are friends?" Castiel asked.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, Cas. We are."

*

That night, Dean had a surprise waiting for him at home.

"Dean," Sam said, for once greeting Dean with a frown instead of a smile. "Dad's home."

"Oh," Dean said. Dad had been hunting for the dragons' nest since before Sam hit Castiel. Dean doubted Sam would have had the courage to try out his contraption if Dad had been there. "Did he say anything?"

Sam shook his head and made a face. "Just said he wanted to talk to you."

Dean swallowed hard and his heart began to race. Could he have found out? He nodded to Sam to disguise his nerves and went further into the house to find his father. 

Dean found him silhouetted impressively against the fireplace. Even in the privacy of his own home, John Winchester carried himself like a leader. 

"Hello, Dean," his father said.

"Hi Dad," Dean replied. "Did you find the nest?"

"No," his father said. "Damn things are impossible to track." He raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "I know you let Sam out during an attack."

Dean had done no such thing. Sam had sneaked out by himself. It would do no good to argue, so he said simply, "He was convinced he could hit the alpha, Dad."

"He tells me he did."

"Maybe," Dean offered. "He definitely hit a dragon. I found burned ropes, but nothing else."

"You shouldn't have let Sam outside," John repeated. 

Dean hung his head. "Sorry, sir."

There was a pause, where Dean could hear his heart pounding so loudly he was terrified that his father would hear it somehow. Then John broke the silence. "Bobby tells me you've been disappearing."

Dean winced. "I've been looking for the alpha," he said finally.

"I thought you said it got away."

"Well, yeah, but it hasn't been since that night, so I figured maybe it's injured or something."

"Why have you been going by yourself?" John demanded.

Dean thought quickly. "Well, it was a long shot anyway, and since the dragons have been attacking more often, I didn't want anyone else to be tired at the end of the day."

John surveyed him. Dean tried not to blink. He'd never lied to his father before. Finally, John nodded curtly. "As long as you're not wasting anyone else's time." He clapped Dean on the shoulder as he went out, no doubt to talk to Bobby and the rest of the council.

"What did he say?" Sam asked from the doorway.

"Just wanted to know where I've been going," Dean answered.

"Where  _have_ you been going?"

Dean shrugged. "Looking for your dragon."

Sam straightened. "You never told me that."

"Didn't want to get your hopes up," Dean said.

*

He'd bought himself some time, but Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Dad insisted he stop going out into the forest. 

"How are your wings?" Dean asked Castiel the next day. It was later than usual, since he'd been so paranoid about someone following him. "Can you fly?"

Castiel shook his head. Dean took him at his word, and examined his shoulder. It, at least, was almost healed. A few more days and they would be able to take out the stitches.

"Dean?" Castiel asked. "What's wrong?"

Usually, when Castiel used contractions or personal pronouns, Dean was ridiculously happy. Today, though, he just sighed. "People have been asking questions. About where I go when I come here."

Castiel's eyes immediately became guarded. Dean hated it when that happened.

"I'm not going to tell," Dean reassured him. "But there might come a time when I have to stop coming here. And then, how will you get food? Or-"

"Dean." Castiel cut him off firmly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean on the forehead. Dean's jaw dropped open. "Don't worry," Castiel said, and smiled. 

Dean should explain that people don't actually kiss on the forehead in place of words, but Castiel looked so pleased with himself that Dean let it go. "How come you're so different from the other dragons?" Dean asked instead. "Can they change like you?"

Castiel frowned. "I am not a dragon."

"Um, what?" Dean asked. 

"I am not a dragon," Castiel repeated. 

"What?" Dean asked again, stupidly. Castiel rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, no doubt to say the exact same thing, so Dean interrupted. "What are you then?"

"I am... I tell the dragons when to fight."

"You make them attack us?" Dean asked angrily.

Castiel looked pained. "No. I do not tell them to fight you. They go for food. I watch, when they go. To..." He broke off and made a frustrated sound. 

"To keep them safe," Dean guessed. Castiel nodded. "But what do you tell them to fight?"

Castiel closed his eyes. It reminded Dean of when Castiel gave him his name, so he waited and let Castiel think. "Leviathans," Castiel said finally.

"What are they?" Dean asked. 

"They are bad. Very bad. They come, and eat everything. Dragons, human, sheeps."

"Sheep," Dean corrected automatically.

"Sheeps," Castiel insisted. Dean let it go, because he realized that whatever Castiel was saying was probably more important than gramar. "They are black. They eat until there is nothing left. No bones, no skins." Dean gasped, remembering. 

"Dean? What's wrong?"

"I think one of those killed my mom." Dean had to force the words through numb lips. Dad had always been convinced that a dragon did it, but there hadn't been any signs or fire or other dragons. They'd simply woken up in the morning and Mary was gone.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Castiel said. A contraction  _and_ a personal pronoun. Dean would be cheering if he weren't panicking. "They are hard to fight. They do not like fire, but they are fast."

"Ah," Dean said intelligently. He sat down heavily in the grass. He felt he was entitled to it, after having his world view shot to hell.

"Dean." Castiel bent down and kissed Dean on the forehead again. "It will be okay. I will watch over you." Surprisingly, the kiss was comforting, and Dean found himself leaning into it.

"So," Dean said, once he'd regained control over his brain. "If you're the dragons' commander or whatever, do you know why they've been attacking us all the time?"

"They attack you all the time?"

"Yeah, basically every night. Sometimes they don't even take food, they just fly around and light stuff on fire."

"They look for me," Castiel said, looking concerned. "They do not know where I am." He went to the walls and started trying to climb them.

"Hold up, Cas, wait," Dean said. "What are you doing?"

"I must go to them. Then they will stop."

Of course. Dean knew that eventually, Castiel would leave, but he'd assumed that because of his injuries they'd have a little more time before that day came. "Cas, calm down, you'll pull out your stitches," he protested, pulling Castiel firmly to the ground. "Is it far? Will it take long to get there?"

"I do not know. I can't fly." Castiel looked at his back in exasperation.

"Alright, it's probably a decent way off, or we would have found it by now," Dean reasoned. "So, how about I come back early in the morning with a horse and some longer rope or a ladder. Then you can go and it'll be quicker."

Castiel subsided. "Yes. That will work." He rolled his shoulder and huffed when it jerked stiffly.

*

It was painfully obvious that Castiel had never been on a horse before. He had to be helped into the saddle, and when the horse started walking, he pitched forward and grasped it around the neck. The horse didn't seem to like it because it shook its head and whinnied. It was enough to send Castiel tumbling off of its back.

"Sorry man," Dean said, laughing a little because he'd never claimed to be a saint. "Looks like you'll have to walk after all." Castiel wrinkled his nose and Dean hesitated. He was sure Castiel wouldn't like it, but he felt like he had to offer. "Or I could go with you, if that's okay. It would be easier for you with someone else on the horse."

"You won't tell the other humans?"

"No," Dean said firmly. It surprised him, how easily he came to that conclusion. "No, I won't."

"Okay," Castiel said. "How should we go?"

"Well, there's not a lot of choice, is there? If you were trying to learn it would be better to have you up front but that won't work with your wings. You'll just have to hold on." Dean mounted and hauled Castiel up behind him. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's middle and settled his head on Dean's shoulder.

"Alright," Dean said, trying to ignore the way Castiel's breath sounded loud in his ear. "I have no idea where I'm going, so you'll have to direct me." He taught Castiel the words for  _left, right,_ and  _straight_ , and then kicked the horse into a walk. 

It was extremely pleasant, actually. Castiel gave him directions occasionally, but for the most part he just asked questions about their surroundings. Some things he'd only seen as a dragon or in pictures and wasn't a hundred percent sure of - children's books didn't always have realistic illustrations - and some things Dean had just forgotten. The word for wind, for instance.

In the early afternoon, they came to a lake against a sheer mountain face. Castiel made him take the horse out into the water, hugging close to the rocks the whole time. Once they'd traversed a large part of the lake, they came to a gap in the rock that led to a small footpath. "Wouldn't have thought dragons needed a walking route," Dean remarked, though he supposed he should be grateful.

"For the little dragons to get their water," Castiel explained.

They broke into the light, and Dean gasped. They were in a huge circular valley, and crawling over every inch of it were dragons. Dragons in every color that he'd ever seen, though none were the same color as Castiel. There were some as small as cats and more colorful - they looked like they couldn't fly yet - and some were larger than Castiel had been. The largest ones were so pale that they almost looked white. The number of dragons who attacked the town was not even a fraction of the dragons here. 

Castiel slid off the horse not at all gracefully, looking very pleased to be on his own feet again. Dean followed, mostly because he wanted to look as unthreatening as possible.

"They will not hurt you," Castiel said, and leaned up to kiss Dean's forehead. Dean really needed to explain that better, but before he could say anything - not that now was the time - Castiel walked into the center of the clearing. It was weird to watch. All the large dragons ignored him and went about their business, but the young ones pranced around him, even as they parted to form a path in front of him. As far as Dean could tell, they never got close enough to touch.

Castiel hummed, and even though he was far away, Dean could feel it in his bones. Then, the most enormous dragon Dean had ever seen landed in front of Castiel and bowed its head. Its head was larger than Castiel, definitely large enough to swallow a man whole. Castiel reached up and touched the dragon on the back of its skull, and for a long time, they just stood there, neither of them moving. When Castiel finally took his hand away, the dragon bellowed. All the dragons paused, and then the large dragon took off. 

Castiel turned and beckoned to him. "Come, Dean," he called.

"I'll pass," Dean yelled back.

"Come," Castiel called again. Dean scowled but started moving forward anyway. He trusted Castiel, but not enough that he was comfortable walking into a field full of dragons.

"Bring meat," Castiel added.

Dean had no idea what that meant, but he dug out some jerky he'd packed for the ride. Castiel hummed again, and by the time Dean made his way to stand next to him, another dragon had landed. It was not nearly as large as the previous one, but it was still larger than a horse, and more than large enough to make Dean sweat.

"I will show you how to say hello," Castiel said. "You must give the dragon a gift. Hold it in your hands like this," he directed, curling Dean's fingers around the jerky so that it was hidden. "Hold your hands out. When the dragon touches you with his nose, show him your gift. If he likes it, he will like you."

"What if he doesn't like it?" Dean asked, holding his hands out regardless. Castiel didn't answer, but Dean had a few guesses. 

The dragon bumped his hands with his nose, and Dean was so startled that he dropped the jerky.

*

"You said they wouldn't hurt me," Dean accused later, after Castiel had hummed and sent the dragon away. He cradled his burnt hand to his chest.

"You did not give him a gift," Castiel said gently. "Let me see."

"I would have picked it up." Dean grumbled as Castiel bent over his hand. "There was no need for him to get angry."

Castiel was doing something weird. It felt like he was breathing on him deliberately or something, but in the grand scheme of things, Dean wasn't going to worry about it. He was more worried about how he was going to explain a fresh burn once he got home.

Castiel sat up, a satisfied expression on his face. "All done," he said, patting Dean's hand.

Dean blinked. His hand felt fine. It felt great, actually, and when he looked down at it, the burn was gone. "Oh my god," he blurted out. "You can just fix me like that?"

Castiel nodded. "If it is caused by dragon fire or claws."

"That is awesome," Dean grinned. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome," Castiel said. He was learning manners. Dean managed not to puff up in pride, but it was a close thing.

Later, once they were underway and Dean was less overwhelmed by the fact that Castiel had healed him so easily, he asked, "But seriously, Cas. Didn't he see that I dropped it? Why'd he go all crazy?"

"He saw only that you did not give you a gift. Dragons are not quick in the head."

"Smart," Dean said. "Dragons are not smart."

"Smart," Castiel agreed.

"So what did you tell that big one?" Dean asked.

"I told him I was safe. To watch for Leviathans and not me. To not take sheeps, but maybe they won't listen to that one for long."

"Sheep," Dean corrected. After that their conversation turned to a heated discussion about why sheep aren't called sheeps, and from there they switched to all the other strange plurals. Each exception caused Castiel's face to screw up in distate and grip Dean tighter in frustration. By the time they got to mouse and mice, Castiel was nothing less than epically frustrated and angry. Dean was laughing at the comically huge frown furrowing Castiel's forehead when he realized he wanted to kiss him.

Dean wasn't blind. He'd seen that very first day that Castiel was stupidly attractive, but he'd drawn the line at dragon. He wasn't human, but he wasn't a dragon either, and the line was a lot harder for Dean to see when Castiel's arms were wrapped around him and he could feel Castiel's breath on his cheek. His breath and his body felt warmer than a human's, and Dean wondered if his mouth would feel warmer too: if Castiel would taste like fire. 

It was a stupid, pointless line of thought, and Dean squashed it down. Castiel would be better soon, and then he would fly away. Thinking about the way Castiel's lips felt against his forehead would only make things worse.

When they got back, Castiel slid off the horse and walked to the edge. He picked up the rope and looked at Dean expectantly. 

"Cas, I'm not going to make you go back down there. You can go home, if you want." He ignored the way the words stuck in his throat. This was the right thing to do.

"I cannot," Castiel said. "It is very high."

"Well okay, but you still don't have to stay down there," Dean said. 

Castiel frowned and peered over the edge. "The picture books."

"We can bring them up, if you want," Dean offered.

"I like being up," Castiel said, looking around the forest. "It's small down there. But tonight I will go down, and tomorrow you can bring me up with the picture book box."

Dean tried not to let his relief show. He felt like a terrible person, happy that Castiel was stuck and dependent on him. He should offer to pull Castiel back up tonight, but he let this one small indulgence slide. 

He pulled him up the next day, when Castiel signaled that he was ready. He also took out Castiel's stitches. There was nothing keeping Castiel there now, and Dean left feeling anxious. He let out a huge sigh of relief the next morning when he saw that Castiel was still where he'd left him. 

"So how are your wings?"

"They will be healed soon, I think," Castiel said. "I might try to fly tonight." Dean tried to look happy as he fiddled with the mirror in his hands. He'd brought it with him so Castiel could see his reflection, and Castiel had spent almost an hour running his hands over his face and making faces into the mirror. 

"Dean," Castiel said hesitantly. Dean looked up and saw that Castiel didn't look happy either. "Thank you. For everything. I will not forget."

"Sure thing, Cas," Dean answered. "I'll, uh, miss you."

Castiel blinked and tilted his head. "Miss?"

"It means, when you are gone, I'll be sad and want to see you again." When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous and pathetic, not to mention dangerously close to the way he'd explained love. Dean very pointedly did  _not_ think about that.

Castiel nodded gravely. "I understand. I will miss you always."

Dean laughed a little. "That's not what you say. You say, I will miss you too."

"No," Castiel said. "I will miss you always."

Dean swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah, me too."

*

As he walked back to the village, Dean thought about how unfair his life was, and berated himself for thinking it was unfair. He'd dug this hole himself, no question. He had no right to be miserable about it. At least when Castiel left, he wouldn't have to lie to his father and Sam anymore. Dad wasn't around much to be lied to, but Sam greeted him every day with a hopeful smile that Dean hated crushing.

Castiel was still going to be there the next day, though. He'd told Dean as much before he'd left, and Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't lie. Castiel probably didn't even know what a lie was.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up. He'd entered the town already, and it usually filled him with a feeling of safety, but something felt off. He looked behind him. The streets were full of shadows and he couldn't see anything. He picked up a nearby torch and raised it. 

He still couldn't see anything, so he shrugged and dismissed it as a draft of wind. He turned around. 

The light from his torch illuminated a huge, dark mass. It was dripping and pulsating and it made Dean's stomach heave. He waved the torch at it in reflex and it pulled back slightly. 

This must be a Leviathan, Dean thought. He started jabbing at it with the torch, and to his relief, it drew back. He lunged forward, determined to bring it down. The swirling black mass parted in the middle to let the flames pass through it, and then it closed around the handle and yanked the torch out of Dean's hands. 

Dean swore and stumbled back. He knew there was another torch in the street, but he couldn't bear the thought of taking his eyes off the Leviathan to find it. 

Suddenly, there was a roar and a whooshing sound. Dean hadn't heard it for a long time, but he recognized it and ducked. He wasn't quite fast enough, and the back of his shirt caught fire. His instincts kicked in, and he fell to the ground to smother the flames. When he looked up, the Leviathan was burning, the fire consuming it steadily. He looked behind, certain of what he would see. Sure enough, Castiel was there in dragon form. He heard someone scream.

"Cas," he gasped through the pain from his back. "You gotta go."

Castiel shook his head and came forward. Dean tried to push him away, but Castiel flipped him over and pinned him to the ground. 

"Cas please," Dean said. "Don't worry about me, just go." He heard footsteps coming towards them, but Castiel ignored him.

Dean couldn't help but groan in relief when Castiel breathed on him and healed him. He had only a second to relax before Castiel's weight was pulled off him. When Dean scrambled to his feet, he saw that some of the villagers had already fastened shackles around Castiel's feet. "Go!" Dean yelled.

There was a blinding white light. Dean, who knew what it was, shut his eyes. When the light through his eyelids faded to manageable levels, Dean opened them. Castiel was standing on human feet again. Dean tossed him his sword and by some miracle Castiel snatched it out of the air. 

It was going to work. The shackles had fallen to the ground, useless, and most of the people had fallen back in shock. Castiel ran toward an exit that was guarded by only one person: Sam, who was gaping openmouthed, sword held loosely in his hand. Castiel's was raised high. 

The rational part of Dean's brain knew that Castiel wouldn't hurt Sam, would probably brush right by him and at worst knock into him, but all Dean could see was a sword bearing down on his little brother. 

"Cas, NO!" Dean screamed. 

Castiel stuttered to a halt and dropped the sword. He looked back at Dean, confusion in his eyes. Sam shook himself and struck Castiel on the back of the head with his sword. Dean was running before Castiel finished crumpling to the ground. 

"Don't hurt him," Dean shouted. He closed about half the distance before strong arms pulled him back. Dean fought them until he realized that they belonged to his father. John dragged him into the town hall and slammed the door shut, a thunderous expression on his face.

Dean gulped. "Dad, I... I can explain."

"Oh really?" John asked, voice low and dangerous. "Because it looked to me like you knew that dragon. Is it your  _pet_?"

"Cas is different, he-"

"You  _named_ it? The  _alpha?_  He is the alpha, isn't he?"

Dean swallowed hard and tried to think. "Dragons are different from what we thought," he forced out. "They aren't the enemy, Dad."

John scoffed and turned away. "Dragons steal our food. They burn our houses. They killed your mother, Dean."

"No. That was a Leviathan. They're the enemy. The dragons fight them, not us."

"And I suppose the dragon told you that?"

"He's not even a dragon," Dean said, frustrated. "He's their commander or something, he-" Dean realized what he was saying and snapped his mouth shut, but the damage was already done.

His father's eyes glinted. "He's their commander?"

"No-" John was already walking toward the door. Dean grabbed him and pulled him back. "I won't let you hurt him."

John just shot him a disgusted look and pushed past him to sweep out the door. Dean followed, but was immediately grabbed by two men outside the door. "Throw him in the dungeons," John said shortly, and walked away."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say the warning applies to this chapter. Some light torture and then descriptions of the aftermath of some brutal off-screen torture. Please don't read if you don't want blood in a fic.

Dean paced. He paced and paced, and then he paced some more, trying to think of a way to escape. His outlook did not look good. He was surrounded by three and a half stone walls and a door made of iron bars. There was even a slot in the door so they wouldn't have to open it to give him food. 

It wasn't until late the next night that someone tapped on the bars of his cell. 

It was Gordon. Dean had always disliked him. He was especially sadistic when it came to killing dragons, and Dean didn't think the way he was smirking was a good sign. All the same, he tried not to let his intense dislike of the man show as he stood and moved closer to the bars. 

"You're in trouble now, Winchester," Gordon said. "Keeping a dragon as a pet. The alpha, no less. Might have expected it from your soft brother, but not you."

"Let me see him," Dean demanded. 

"I have a few questions for you," Gordon said, ignoring him.

"I want to see him," Dean insisted. If he wanted any hope of breaking Castiel out, he needed to know where he was being kept at the very least.

Gordon surveyed him for a moment, and eventually nodded. He pulled out a pair of shackles. "Back up and put your hands through the bars."

Dean gritted his teeth but did as he was told. Now was not the time to get picky.

Gordon had an assistant with him, one of his friends, Kubrick, who Dean had also never liked. Kubrick kept a tight grip on Dean's arms as Gordon led the way into the lower parts of the dungeon. They were underground, and even Dean felt uneasy. Dean didn't want to think about how trapped Castiel would feel down here. 

Gordon unlocked a door - this one was solid iron - and stepped through.

Castiel was on his hands and knees, naked and chained to the floor like an animal, but that wasn't what made Dean hiss and start forward before Kubrick pulled him back. "What the hell is that?" Dean barked.

Gordon knelt in front of Castiel. "Animals need to be muzzled, Dean." He ran his hand over the metal contraption that covered the lower half of Castiel's face lovingly. "Especially dragons. I'm just glad I got it on when he was unconsious."

The thought of Castiel waking up like that made Dean's blood boil. "You're sick, you know that?"

"You know, I don't really care what you think, Winchester." Gordon ran a hand through Castiel's hair and jerked his head back. Even though he was facing partially away, Dean could see the hate in Castiel's eyes and cheered internally. "But I do have some questions," Gordon continued. "Your dragon is very strange. For instance, I can do this..." He pinched Castiel's nose shut with his other hand. Dean swore and jerked forward, but Kubrick just tightened his grip and laughed quietly as Dean struggled. "And he just glares daggers at me."

It was true. Castiel's body jerked and his hands clenched as he fought for air, but his eyes never left Gordon's, and his rage was plain to see.

Gordon finally let go, and Castiel sucked in a huge breath through his nose. Dean sighed in relief, but tensed when Gordon grinned at him maliciously. "But if I do this," he said, and placed a hand on Castiel's back. Castiel moaned and shuddered, arching desperately to get away from Gordon's hand. Gordon still had a tight grip in his hair, though, and he couldn't get away.

Dean was pathetically grateful that he hadn't laid a hand on Castiel himself, but he was mostly furious. "You sick bastard," he shouted. "Dragon wings are sensitive, you moron! How would you feel if someone rubbed their hands all over your eyes?"

"Interesting," Gordon mused. "That explains what happens when I do this." He dug his fingernails in and scratched down the length of one of his wings. Castiel threw his head back, even with Gordon's hand in his hair, and screamed.

Dean saw red. He grabbed Kubrick's shirt so he couldn't pull away and smashed his head backwards. He heard something crunch, and Kubrick released him and fell. Without looking back, Dean charged into the cell. 

Gordon was standing up, shocked, and Dean used that to his advantage. He swept Gordon's legs out from under him and dropped him to his knees. Gordon's head was near one of the walls, so Dean took a step back and kicked him as hard as he could. The side of Gordon's head struck the wall and he slid to the floor. Dean hoped he was dead. He crossed to kneel in front of Castiel, who was still shaking and shuddering and looking around with unseeing eyes. 

"Shh," Dean said, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry, Cas, I'm sorry, just calm down." It took time, but eventually Castiel's limbs stopped trembling and he looked at Dean in recognition instead of panic.

"Hold on," Dean said. He wished he had planned this better, or had a plan at all, but Kubrick and Gordon were down, and he had to act now. He braced his forehead against Castiel's and without stopping to think, squeezed his left hand as hard as he could. He let out a quiet cry when his thumb broke. Grimacing, Dean pulled his left hand out of the shackle. He didn't stop to release his right hand, just fumbled with the leather laces keeping the gag on Castiel's head. He got them undone after what seemed like an age, and was horrified to see that there was a part that went inside Castiel's mouth and lay over his tongue. 

Castiel spat when it came out. Dean had tasted iron once or twice and he knew that it was awful. "Dean," Castiel gasped, and he sounded so miserable and terrified and grateful that Dean couldn't help but kiss him. 

It didn't last long, just the barest press of lips against each other, because Dean  _had to get him out._ Castiel didn't respond, didn't even blink, but Dean didn't let himself wonder what that meant as he climbed to his feet and crossed the room to grab Gordon's keys.

It took him a few tries before he found the right one. His left hand was a mass of white-hot pain and all but useless, and his right was shaking in anger, so even then he had a hard time twisting it properly.

When the key finally turned with a click and released Castiel's hand, Castiel jerked forward and gripped Dean's shoulder. "It's okay Cas," Dean said as he leaned over to release Castiel's other wrist. "I'll get you out of here, I promise." Castiel didn't say anything, but his grip on Dean's shoulder tightened. 

Gordon hit him on the back of the head just as Dean shoved the key into the lock. Dean fell backwards, stunned but still awake. He hadn't even noticed Gordon stirring. 

"You're going to regret this, Dean," Gordon snarled, and then he started pummeling him.

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Castiel's free hand fumbling with the key, and Dean prayed that Gordon would keep punching him long enough for Castiel to unchain his feet and run out of here. 

At the sound of the cuff unlocking, Gordon looked up. He stopped beating Dean long enough to pry the keys away from Castiel, and then he picked Dean up by the feet and started dragging him out of the cell. 

By this point, Dean was barely holding on to consciousness, and he couldn't even kick with his legs. The most he could do was moan out "no," and "Cas." Castiel grabbed at him as he was dragged past, and one of his hands folded around Dean's left and squeezed tightly. Pain radiated up his arm from his thumb, and that was when Dean passed out.

 

*

 

"... Dean? Dean, wake up."

Dean blinked his eyes open. Someone was above him, features swimming in and out of focus. "Sam?" He asked. His voice was raspy.

"Finally," Sam said. "Here." He held a cup of water to Dean's lips. Dean drank gratefully, and the water cleared not only his throat but the fuzziness in his brain as well. 

Something was wrong. He felt way better than he should. His left hand was immobile and didn't hurt, and his face felt tight but not swollen. The rest of his body felt similar - injured but not recently so. "How long?" He asked.

"It's been five days since they took you and the alpha. I couldn't find you until today, I think they were drugging you."

Dean bolted upright. "Where is he?"

"Whoa, Dean take it easy." Sam laid a steadying hand on Dean's shoulder when Dean started to feel woozy from sitting up too fast. "They took him to find the nest yesterday."

"Who took him?"

"Everyone who's ever set foot in dragon training." Sam laughed bitterly. "Good thing I refused, I guess."

"Gordon too?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. 

Dean swallowed hard. He did not want to think about what Gordon might have done in all that time. "How is he?"

"Gordon? He's fine." Dean shook his head. "Oh, you mean the alpha?" Sam asked. 

"Castiel," Dean corrected. "His name is Castiel."

Sam looked at him strangely. "Um, okay. I didn't see him. They put him in a wagon."

Dean tried to do the math. It had taken them a little over half a day to reach the nest, but they'd been on horseback. If everyone was going, and they brought wagons and catapults, they still might have made it by now. If they hadn't they were probably close. And once they reached the nest, they would have no use for Castiel, and they...

Dean jumped to his feet. "I have to go." He regretted it instantly. The room spun, and Dean reached a hand out to Sam to steady himself.

"Dean, you're in no condition to go anywhere," Sam said. "Seriously, they were drugging you to keep you asleep. I've been trying to wake you up for nearly a day."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said. "I need weapons. A horse."

"I know there are some spare swords at the house," Sam said. "But they took all the horses. Dean please, sit down."

"Damn it." Dean sat and racked his brain. He had the beginnings of an idea. It might not work, because the dragons hadn't been able to find Castiel before, but they seemed to find the ballpark, and if they could get close... he had to try. "Is that dragon you captured still alive?" He asked. 

"I think so," Sam answered. "Dean, whatever you're planning-"

Dean interrupted him. "I need you to get me a sword or the next best thing. And then I need you to help me get to that dragon."

Sam surveyed him with narrowed eyes. It reminded Dean of Castiel, and his stomach twisted. "Fine," Sam said eventually. "But I'm coming with you."

"Sam..."

"You need my help," Sam said, crossing his arms. 

"This isn't your fight." 

"You're my brother," Sam said firmly. His jaw was set. "And I'm the one who hit the - hit Castiel. If that was wrong, I'm damn well gonna do my best to make it right."

"Okay, okay," Dean said. "Help me up. Oh, and Sam - we're going to need some meat."

*

"Seriously, Dean? This is your plan?"

"You said you would help me," Dean accused as they stood in front of the iron door that kept the dragon captive.

"Yeah, because I thought you had a plan, not a death wish."

"Just open the damn door. This'll work." Dean curled his fingers around the meat, just as Castiel had shown him. The splint on his wrist made it awkward and he could only hope the dragon didn't freak out about it. He held his hands up and nodded to Sam. "Do it."

Sam grumbled but pulled the bolt back and hauled at the door to pull it open.

The dragon unfurled its wings, as if it were about to take flight, but it stopped when it saw Dean. Dean held his breath. He heard Sam gasp in awe as the dragon brushed his head against Dean's hands. He opened them slowly and the dragon snatched the meat from him and ate. When it was done, it licked Dean's palms. 

Dean honestly didn't know if that was the end or not, but it wasn't roaring or flaming at him, so he lowered his hands slowly. When the dragon didn't do anything, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, Sam," he said quietly. "Your turn. Hold your hands out just like I did and make sure the meat stays hidden. When it bumps you, show it to him."

"Okay," Sam said, excitement coloring his voice. Dean should have known that Sam would be fascinated. 

Sam's gift went smoothly as well, and then it was time for the part Dean was making up. Moving slowly and cautiously, he put an hand on the dragon's shoulder. The dragon swung its head around to look at him. "Uh, we sort of need your help."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Shut up," Dean hissed. To the dragon, he said, "Can you help us? We need to find Castiel." The dragon's eyes were blank, but when Dean said Castiel's name, it blinked. "Can you take us to him?"

The dragon remained blank, and Dean wondered how he had ever mistaken Castiel for one of them. Even when he was in dragon form, he'd been obviously intelligent. Dean shot a despairing look at Sam over his shoulder, who shrugged. Dean turned to the dragon and tried again. "Castiel?"

This time he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the dragon's eyes. When he said it again the dragon knelt. 

"Is he?" Sam asked. 

"Only one way to find out," Dean said, and climbed onto the dragon's back. After a moments hesitation, Sam did the same. 

"This is crazy," Sam said.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean said. "I mean, the things I've done -" The dragon leapt into the air suddenly, effectively ending all conversation. Once they leveled off and Dean's heart rate settled, he told Sam as much as he could. 

It took a little over two hours to see the train of townspeople. By that time it was dusk, and Dean was grateful for the cover of darkness. 

The raiding party was camped on the lake. Dean had no idea how they planned to attack the nest, and he didn't particularly care. If he managed to get Castiel out, he could talk to the dragons and tell them to fly away or something. Dean wouldn't be surprised if Castiel had done something like that already.

The dragon landed out of site of the camp and flew off before Dean could thank it. Dean watched it go, suddenly nervous, before turning to Sam. "He's in a wagon?" Dean whispered. Sam nodded. 

They skirted the camp until they reached the front of the train. There were surprisingly few people around, and Dean wondered if they were gathered for a strategy meeting. Whatever the reason, Dean was grateful. It made sneaking around much easier, and if they could find Castiel quickly, it would be an immense stroke of luck.

There were three likely wagons at the front of the camp. The first held Sam's net thrower. Sam coughed awkwardly and they moved on.

The second contained barrels of food. Dean hesitated, and climbed in quickly to grab a few handfuls of jerky.

Castiel was chained in the third. Gordon had put the gag back on him, and like before his feet were fettered to the floor. However, his hands were shackled behind his back and there was a length of chair wound around his neck that connected to the ceiling beams on either side of the wagon. It forced him into an awkward half-bow, and Dean could see the muscles in Castiel's stomach and thighs quivering with tension as he struggled to keep himself from being suffocated. 

Dean scrambled in and braced himself beneath Castiel's chest to relieve the pressure on Castiel's throat. "Get this chain off his neck, Sam," he ordered.

Sam nodded and pulled out the keys they'd stolen from the guardroom. Dean drew his knife. Castiel flinched at the noise and tried to pull away. Dean shushed him and cut through the ties of the muzzle. He was going to throw it into the middle of the lake. He eased it out of Castiel's mouth as gently as he could. 

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "None of the keys we brought fit."

"Break the wood then."

"Someone might hear."

"Just do it," Dean ordered. Castiel was scaring him. He was so quiet. Dean couldn't see very well and they couldn't risk a light, but Castiel's eyes seemed glazed over. Dean wondered whether he'd been chained like this for the entire journey.

With a crack, the wood holding one of the ends of the chain in place broke. Castiel whimpered when Dean unwound the chain from his neck. As soon as it was out of the way he slumped, and if it weren't for Dean holding him up, he would have hit the floor. Dean pulled him closer and cradled his head against his chest. Sam was already kneeling and reaching for Castiel's hands. "Don't touch his back," Dean cautioned. Sam nodded and unlocked his wrists carefully before moving on to Castiel's feet. 

Dean listened carefully. He couldn't hear anyone moving outside the wagon, so it looked like they'd been lucky and no one had heard the wood break. 

Once Castiel was free, Sam helped pull him onto Dean's back. Sam poked his head out, and once they determined the coast was clear, they sprinted for the woods.

"What now?" Sam asked when they were safely under the cover of the trees.

They'd never get far enough away from the camp, not on foot. In any case, it might not be safe to move Castiel anyway, since they didn't know the extent of his injuries.

"Cas," Dean said. "Castiel. Do they know about the path?"

Castiel didn't answer. Dean could feel his breath against his neck, so he was either in too much shock or unconscious, but at least he wasn't dead.

From the way they were camped, Dead didn't think they knew. If that was the case, then the dragons' nest was definitely the safest place for Castiel right now. If they did know, the narrow passage would make it easier for Dean to defend. And if the dragons were still there, it wouldn't matter either way. 

Dean came to a decision. "Stay close behind me, Sam. Keep one hand on the rock face and try not to make any noise."

It was slow going. Dean couldn't see where he was putting his feet, and lugging Castiel around on his back didn't make things any easier. Despite this, they made it across the lake and into the passageway well before dawn broke. 

When Dean felt the rock under his feet turn to grass, he lowered Castiel to the ground. He turned around and starting walking back the way they'd come. 

"Where are you going?" Sam called after him.

"Making sure we're not followed," Dean replied. "I think he's asleep. Stay with him, and if I'm not back by the time he wakes up, come get me."

"But-"

"Get some sleep, Sam," Dean said tiredly. He walked until he was just out of sight of the lake. The last thing he wanted to do was give away their position. Hopefully, this close to the water, he would be able to hear people coming. 

Sam came just after dawn broke. He looked pale. "You need to be there when he wakes up."

Dean sighed, torn. "I need to make sure they don't know where we are," he countered.

"Dean, you need to be there, okay? I'll stay here and keep watch. Besides, you need to rest too."

Sam was not a warrior, but Dean  _was_ tired. "Don't let them see you," he said finally. 

Sam nodded. "I won't."

It was still reasonably dark out, so Dean risked a chance to refill his water skin. He'd done it during the night, but there was no sense in wasting an opportunity to get more. "If they haven't come by midmorning, they don't know, so you can head back," Dean directed. Sam nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on what water they could see. 

When Dean stepped into the nest, the first thing that he noticed was that the dragons were all still there. That meant they probably didn't have to worry about the humans getting in. He was pretty sure that one big dragon breathing fire down the passage would instantly put a stop to anyone. 

Castiel was lying just a little ways from the entrance, surrounded by the dragon-children. Dean could hardly see him; they were so tightly packed around him. They parted easily to let him pass, and as he drew close, he stumbled. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, horror-struck.

From the feeble light, he could now see what he hadn't last night. Castiel's back was in tatters. There was no other word for it - there were huge slashes, not just long but deep, and there was so much matted blood that in some places Dean couldn't tell where the normal skin ended and the wings began. "I'm going to kill him," Dean whispered vehemently.

It was no wonder that Castiel was passed out. Dean was surprised that he wasn't dead.

Lying down next to Castiel carefully, Dean placed a hand over one of Castiel's. He would have preferred to lace their fingers together, but Gordon had paid attention to them too. Almost all of his fingers looked twisted and broken, and when Dean craned his head he could see that the bottom of Castiel's feet had been slashed. 

Dean was dozing when Castiel woke. His hand was sent flying and he heard shuddering, gasping breaths. 

When he sat up, he saw Castiel panting and looking around in confusion. "Cas?" he said uncertainly. Castiel looked so confused and frightened and hurt - after what he'd been through, Dean wouldn't be surprised if he set the dragons on him.

Castiel blinked and focused. "Dean?" he said. Then, "Dean!" He threw himself forward and clutched at Dean: grabbed him and pulled him close, buried his face in Dean's neck, and dug his fingers in despite the fact that they were broken. Dean wanted nothing more that to hug him back, envelop him in his arms, but mindful of Castiel's injuries, he only touched him where he was sure he wouldn't cause any harm, and he did so lightly.

"I've got you, Cas." He mentally thanked Sam for insisting on this, though if he'd known the extent of Castiel's injuries he never would have left. 

"Dean," Castiel said again. He took a shuddering breath. "I missed you."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I missed you too." He held him like that for a while, before he remembered that Gordon was a dick and Castiel probably hadn't eaten or drunk recently. Castiel protested when Dean pushed him back, but when he saw the waterskin he grabbed it and started drinking. Dean forced him to slow down, and when Castiel was finished he gave him some of the jerky he'd pilfered from the supply wagon.

Castiel's eyes started to droop as chewed on his second piece. Whatever adrenaline he must have had from waking up disoriented was wearing off. Dean didn't try to keep him awake. With his injuries, it was better to keep him as rested as possible. He lowered him onto the ground and stood up. He had a thought to get Sam - they hadn't talked about their exit strategy yet - but Castiel spoke. "Please don't go."

"I was just going to talk to Sam," Dean started to explain, but stopped when he saw the pleading look in Castiel's eyes. "All right," he said instead, and lay down again. 

Castiel raised one of his hands, almost tentatively, and laid it across Dean's chest. He shuffled closer, and without asking Dean moved his own arm and helped Castiel arrange himself so that he was half-draped over Dean, his head on Dean's shoulder and body a warm line along Dean's side. Castiel sighed once, and relaxed into sleep. Dean closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and allowed himself to do the same.

*

"Um, Dean?" A voice asked.

Dean opened his eyes. Sam was standing over him, looking pointedly away. Judging from the light, it was early afternoon. "Something you want, Sam?" Beside him, Castiel stirred, but he didn't wake. 

"I just, uh, think they definitely don't know where we are. I heard shouting and stuff but no splashing or anything, so I thought I'd get some sleep while I can."

"Sounds good," Dean said. "I was thinking we'd wait until nightfall and fly Cas out."

"Okay. Um, did you bring an extra pair of pants?" Sam asked, blushing a deep shade of red.

"Seriously, dude?" Dean asked. He thought Sam had been embarrassed because Castiel was wrapped around him like a cat, not because he was showing a little skin. "Turn your back if it makes you feel uncomfortable."

Sam glared. "That's not what I meant. If we're going to put him on the back of a dragon, it's gonna chafe, right?"

He had a point, though Dean was pretty sure that fiery red color wasn't a result of  _logic._ "We'll figure something out," Dean told him, and Sam nodded before lying down close to them. Dean considered trying to fall back asleep, but he'd been drugged for the better part of three days, so he didn't really want to spend more time unconscious. Instead, he used the time to think of places where they could move Castiel. He'd need food, shelter, and probably better medical care than last time. 

Suddenly, there was a screech. It was so loud and so violent that Dean's eyes watered. Sam bolted upright. "The hell?" he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.

The screech ended as abruptly as it began, and as one the dragons took off. Castiel's eyes snapped open. "Leviathans," he gasped. 

"Wait, what?" Dean asked. Castiel ignored him, staggering to his feet. He let out a pained noise as he put weight on his damaged feet, but he showed no signs of stopping. "Whoa, slow down."

"I can feel them," Castiel said. "All of them. They must know I am hurt."

"Like the one that attacked me?"

Castiel nodded, and then he hummed. After a few seconds, the same huge off-white dragon appeared and landed a short ways away. Castiel staggered towards it. "Shit," Dean said, and dug into his pocket for the rest of the jerky. He threw a piece of it to Sam as they followed. 

They held out their hands and the dragon took their offerings. "Wait, Cas, stop," Dean yelled as Castiel tried to climb up on the dragon's leg. His feet left bloody prints on the dragon's scales as he made his way up the dragon's head. 

"I must see, and I cannot fly," Castiel said. 

"Just, hold on," Dean ordered, shrugging out of his coat and offering it up. "Sit on that."

Castiel nodded, and once he got situated on top of Dean's coat, he leaned over and placed his hand on the dragon's head. It stilled instantly, and Dean figured he was doing the mindmeld thing. The dragon raised its wings -

And Castiel slipped. He managed to catch himself by wrapping both arms around the dragon's neck before he fell off completely, but it was close. He'd been horrible on a horse - it seemed like the back of a dragon was no better. 

"Dean, come here. You must not let me fall."

"Cas I..." Dean swallowed. There was no way to sugarcoat this. "I'll have to be behind you if you've got to touch its head."

Castiel locked eyes with him. He bit his lip and nodded. Dean clambered up behind Castiel carefully. 

It wasn't too bad. Since Castiel had to lean forward anyway, Dean could steady him by the hips. Dean didn't have to touch Castiel's back at all, though if he was jolted forward he might accidentally brush up against him. Even if Castiel didn't' have extra issues about his wings, Dean wouldn't have wanted to touch him there anyway. It was a bloody, disgusting mess. "Can Sam come too if he sits behind me?" he asked. Castiel nodded, and Sam climbed up. He settled himself behind Dean and then they rose into the air. 

It was smoother than the last ride had been. Dean assumed it was because Castiel was partly controlling the dragon.

Sam gasped when they rose above the crest of the valley. Dean was too focused on keeping Castiel steady to spare more than a glance around, but that one glance was more than enough to make him very worried. 

Over the lake was the same roiling black mass that had attacked Dean in the town. This, however, was a hundred, a thousand times bigger. It glistened in the late afternoon light, rolling and pulsating in a way that was nauseating. Behind him, Sam retched. 

Dragons flew around it, flaming wildly, but as Dean watched, a section of the Leviathan broke off and launched through the air. It landed on a dragon, which let out an almost human scream. Within seconds it was completely consumed. The Leviathan reattached itself to the larger mass. 

The dragon they were riding roared. Dean could see it, the moment the dragons became more organized. They spread themselves out and formed a uniform patter around the Leviathans. Then, in small groups, they darted forward and breathed fire. The Leviathans adapted to everything the dragons did, much in the same way the one Dean fought had. 

It wasn't enough. Their dragon roared again, and small groups of dragons started attacking different areas of the Leviathans at the same time. This time, a few of the dragons his their mark, but in return, the Leviathans managed to consume a few dragons. 

Castiel let out a frustrated growl. Dean could see what the issue was. In order to burn the Leviathans, the dragons had to get close, and if it wasn't distracted, they would get eaten.  He was struck with sudden inspiration. "Cas," he said urgently. "When Castiel didn't respond, he shook him slightly and said, "Castiel."

"Dean?"

"Could the humans help?" Dean asked. "They brought catapults. If they launched fire?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. "Yes. Yes, that would help."

"Okay," Dean said. "Sam, you gotta tell them what to do."

"Me?" Sam asked skeptically. "Dean, I can't."

"You can," Dean told him firmly. "Cas? Can you take us down there?"

Castiel nodded and the dragon turned around. As it flew back towards the human camp, Dean asked, "Is there any other way to fight them besides fire?"

"Cutting it will not kill it, but it will slow it down," Castiel answered. 

"Awesome. You catch that, Sam?"

"Yeah, I got it. How do I -"

Dean reached behind with one hand and pushed Sam off. He fell into the shallows of the lake with a splash. "Take us back up," Dean yelled. He could see some of the humans pointing at them and raising crossbows. The dragon veered, and when Dean glanced back, he saw Sam running up the shoreline.

The dragons were still running through the same motions, and the Leviathans were smoldering in some places. It was still just as large, despite the best efforts of the dragons. 

There was a whistle, and a single fireball soared through the air. The Leviathans avoided it easily, but immediately after a barrage of fireballs flew toward them. Some of them they managed to dodge, but some of them struck and slid to the ground, leaving burning trails in their wake. 

The fireballs continued to come in volleys and, and as the Leviathans contorted to avoid them, nearly half the dragons flew forward at once to attack. 

It was going to work. The Leviathans were shrinking, slowly but steadily burning away. Each time the humans fired the catapults, the mass of Leviathans grew smaller. 

All of a sudden, the Leviathans contracted inward, and then exploded in every direction. Most of them fell to the ground and started rolling around the lake toward the human camp, but some of them flew upward, and many of the dragons weren't quick enough. Castiel groaned. Dean wondered whether he could feel it every time a dragon died. He didn't know what to do, so he just tightened his grip on Castiel's hips and hoped that was enough. 

It was frightening to watch - the Leviathans ate the dragons and left nothing before jumping outward again. Dragons were being cut down all around them, and when Dean looked back, he could see the humans running towards the Leviathans on the ground. 

Suddenly, their dragon lurched. And then it screamed. Dean knew that scream - every dragon touched by a Leviathan let out the same noise. Without thinking, Dean wrenched Castiel off the dragon and threw him into the air. They were over the lake, so there was a possibility that they wouldn't die. They stood a better chance than if they stayed on the dragon, at least. Dean threw himself off after him.

He'd leapt off in such a way that he couldn't control himself. He spun around in the air, catching only brief glimpses of things: the lake, the humans on the shore, their dragon disappearing and the Leviathan launching itself down toward him. Then, a blinding white light and fire bursting all around him. 

Dean hit the lake on his side. It wasn't gentle. The water felt solid, like the ground, but he sunk, and with his entire left side feeling like it had been pulverized, he couldn't bring himself to even try to swim up. The last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was a dark shape moving above him in the water. 

 

*

 

He woke up. That was a surprise in and of itself, but to add to his confusion, he was in his own bed and Sam was dozing in a chair next to him. He cleared his throat tiredly. Sam jerked awake immediately. "Dean!" He scrambled to get him some water. Dean took it from him and drank deeply. "What happened?" He rasped. 

"The Leviathans are gone. You've got some bruised rips and your shoulder was dislocated, but other than that you're fine," Sam told him. "You hit the water from pretty high up. We thought you'd be dead for sure, but Castiel pulled you out."

"Where is he?" Dean asked. 

"He's in the dungeons. Before you freak, it's not like the last time. Bobby just didn't know what to do with him, he's fine."

"Bobby?" Dean asked, confused. 

"Dad - Dad's dead," Sam said. "He lit himself on fire and charged the Leviathans."

"Crazy bastard," Dean said through numb lips.

Sam nodded and smiled, though it looked forced. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Well anyway, Bobby's taken over for now."

Dean took a deep breath. There'd be time to grieve later. "I want to see Cas."

"Dean, you should rest," Sam said, but he stood up and started to pull Dean to his feet anyway. 

"I'll rest when I'm dead," Dean shot back. "Hurry it up, will you?"

"I could leave your ass here on the floor," Sam warned.

Dean kept quiet as they maneuvered their way through the village. His left hip felt stiff, but with every step the pain faded and before long he was walking reasonably normally.

A sudden thought occurred to him as they made their way into the dungeons. "Where's Gordon?"

"He's dead," Sam said. "I killed him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When Castiel dragged you out of the lake, he went nuts and started screaming about how Castiel had called the Leviathans to eat us all and that you were in on it. He started waving his sword like a madman, and he grabbed you like he was about to kill you so - yeah."

"Wow," Dean said. "Um. Wow. Not that I wasn't going to do it myself, but - probably would have had to wait for a few days." He paused and let the information sink in. "And people were okay with that?"

Sam shrugged. "It was chaos. Mostly everyone was focused on not getting eaten, and after a while it became obvious that Castiel was trying to help, so they've kind of let it go. I think people are just tired of fighting."

They'd reached Castiel's cell. Dean was relieved to see that Castiel was being held in the top floor of the dungeons, the floor least likely to give a person leprosy. There were two guards outside, but they opened the door readily when they saw Sam and Dean. 

Sam handed him a torch and waved him inside. He let Dean enter alone, and the door swung shut after him.

It was late, and Castiel was asleep. Dean took a moment to look around the cell. Castiel was lying on a mattress. Someone had given him pants, and though his wrists were chained together and attached to the wall, he had plenty of leeway to move around. Dean saw that his fingers were splinted. In the corner, he saw a box and a bucket. All in all, it was more comfortable than what they'd kept Dean in when he'd been locked up.

As he lit the torches on the wall, Castiel shifted in his sleep. He opened his eyes blearily. "Sam?"

Jealousy, ludicrous as it was, flowed through Dean. "It's me," he said. 

" _Dean_ ," Castiel said, and Dean had to draw in a breath. He had no idea that his short, one-syllable name could sound like that. Castiel sounded tired and relieved and happy all at once, and he got to his feet and reached out. 

Dean stepped closer, and Castiel touched him gently, running his hands over the left side of his body before lifting them to cup Dean's face. "You are healed now?"

"No, not really, but I'm better," Dean replied.

Castiel hummed and stroked his fingers along Dean's cheek. "You have a beard."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, that happens. Well, to me anyway," he amended, eyeing Castiel's permanent state of light stubble. He should ask about that sometime. "Wait, how do you know that word?" He was fairly certain they'd never covered facial hair.

"Sam has taught me many new words," Castiel explained. "Splint, bandage. Beard. He has been very kind. He brought the picture books."

"Nice." Dean tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, because Castiel was not  _his._

"I missed you," Castiel said earnestly.

"Yeah, me too. Well, not really, 'cause I was passed out, but I would have."

Castiel nodded, and then winced. "My feet hurt."

"Let's sit," Dean said hastily. He'd almost forgotten about the way Castiel's feet had been cut open. When they were seated, but not touching, Dean asked. "Did Sam do this?" He let his hand fold over Castiel's splinted fingers.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"And," Dean hesitated before asking, "How's your back?"

Castiel's face darkened. "He asked, but he did not touch, I -" he paused, clearly struggling for words. "It hurts, but I did not -"

"Hey, it's okay," Dean reassured him. "No one's gonna touch them if you don't want 'em to." Castiel looked down at his lap. He fiddled with the splints on his fingers. "Could I look?" Dean asked. 

Castiel raised his eyes and looked at Dean searchingly. He nodded, and turned on the mattress so that his back was to the light. 

Dean thought they'd looked bad before, when they were covered in blood, but now that the bleeding had stopped, they looked even worse. They looked relatively clean, so Dean figured that Castiel had tried to wash them. As a result, he could see the true extent of the damage.

Nearly all the bones were broken, and there were several long, deep cuts that definitely needed stitches. The worst though, was at the bottom of the left wing. Gordon had cut around the outline and it looked like he'd peeled back the skin for a few inches. 

"It's -" Dean's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's bad, Cas."

"Can you fix them?" Castiel asked, voice small.

"Maybe, but it would really hurt, and I'd have to touch you."

"Okay."

Dean blinked. "What was that?" he asked, sure he couldn't have heard right.

"Okay. Fix them. Please, Dean."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. 

"Yes," Castiel said faintly. He turned to face Dean, looking scared but determined. "I trust you."

Dean swallowed hard at the faith in Castiel's eyes. "Okay." He laid a hand on Castiel's leg reassuringly. "I have to get some stuff first. " He left Castiel on the bed and went to the door. When he rapped on it, it opened. Sam was waiting outside. "I'm gonna fix his back," Dean told him. "I need water, stitching materials, and bandages." Sam nodded gravely and started walking away. "Sam," Dean called. "Maybe something for him to bit on."

Sam looked pained, but he nodded and continued. Dean went back into the cell. "Sam's getting it," he explained to Castiel. "It'll take a few minutes." Castiel looked nervous, so to take his mind off it, Dean sat next to him and bumped their shoulders together. "What other words have you learned?"

Castiel relaxed minutely and ran through a bunch of words, mostly related to the dungeons, but quite a few that he must have learned from the books. As he talked, Dean was struck with the realization that Castiel was probably smarter than him. Awkward.

Sam came back soon after Castiel petered out. He set everything carefully on the floor and looked to Dean. "Do you want any help?"

Dean looked at Castiel, who shook his head. "No, Sam," I think I've got it," Dean replied.

Sam took it in stride. "Sure. Good luck. Tell me if you need anything else." He left, but paused at the door. "I hope you get better soon, Castiel."

"Thank you, Sam," Castiel said. 

"This is gonna hurt," Dean said apologetically, once the door was closed. "I could drug you. Put you to sleep."

Castiel shook his head. Dean sighed and pushed him until he was lying down on his stomach. He offered Castiel the leather strap to bite on. "You ready?" Castiel nodded. Dean took a deep breath. "Try to stay still."

It was slow work. Dean wanted to make sure he did everything correctly the first time around, so that there would be no need for a second time. He worked as gently as he could, but Castiel still shuddered occasionally and groaned whenever he pushed bones into their proper place. All things considered, he dealt with it well. At leas there was no screaming. Castiel really did trust him.

When he finished stitching the skin back together, Dean paused and wiped his brow. "Is it okay if I bandage you? It will feel weird, but it'll hold everything in place and prevent dirt or gunk from getting in." Castiel nodded, so Dean urged him to sit up and got to work winding the bandages around Castiel's torso. At the beginning Castiel held his arms up, but before long he placed them around Dean's shoulders to keep them out of the way. Every time Dean leaned close to pull the bandages around the back of his body, he could feel Castiel's breath puff through his hair. Dean was extremely thankful for his beard, because he knew he was blushing. It didn't help that every time he pulled back, Castiel's eyes were fixed on him, filled with trust and relief and gratitude.

"All right," Dean said finally. "Is it too tight? Can you breath okay?"

Castiel took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "Yes. Thank you Dean."

"You're welcome," Dean said. "Hey, you might be able to wear a shirt now."

Castiel wrinkled his nose in distaste, and Dean laughed. In truth, he'd gotten so used to seeing Castiel shirtless that even the bandages looked strange. He wasn't sure his brain could handle Castiel in a shirt or coat.

"Hey guys," Sam said, poking his head through the doorway. "Bobby wants to talk to you, Dean. Looking good, Cas."

"What does he want to talk about?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged, but he nodded to Castiel. Dean sighed. "Right now?" he asked. 

"Yeah. I can stay here if you want, Cas." Castiel nodded.

"Fine," Dean said. He got to his feet and cracked his back. He rested a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can. See if I can't get you out of here."

Castiel looked apprehensive. Sam was still watching from the doorway, but Dean ignored him and stooped to kiss Castiel's forehead anyway. It was the right thing to do, because when he straightened, Castiel looked a lot less nervous and a lot more happy.

Sam was blushing when Dean brushed past him.

Bobby was waiting for him in the main hall. His arms were crossed and he was frowning, but he looked more disappointed than angry. "Well, I can't say I'm not relieved to see you on your feet," he said gruffly.

"Me too," Dean said. 

"We saw you hit the water. Thought you were a gonner, but your dragon pulled you out."

"He's not technically a dragon," Dean said. 

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, we noticed." After a pause, where Dean shifted uneasily, Bobby said, "What the  _hell_ were you thinking, keeping something like that a secret. That's where you were sneaking off to all day, wasn't it?"

"Bobby..." Dean rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He didn't have the words to explain it, so he simply said, "you've got to let him go."

Bobby reared back. "Are you out of your head?"

"He won't hurt anyone," Dean said.

Bobby glowered. "He's their damned alpha. Or commander, whatever. We can't just let him go. He could bring the whole village down around our ears."

"But he hasn't. He could have done that ages ago. Hell, he could probably do it even if we keep him locked in a cell forever, but he won't. He's  _good,_ Bobby."

"Maybe you're right," Bobby sighed. "In any case,  _I_ can't let him go." When Dean opened his mouth to argue, Bobby cut him off. "Don't give me that look. I'm not the chief, I'm only acting as one. When the new chief gets selected, we'll see."

Dean wanted to argue further, but Bobby was right. It was custom that only the chief could release prisoners, and only if they'd been selected fairly. Dean had no hope of talking him around. "I want to stay with him," Dean said instead.

Bobby looked at him like he'd grown a second head, but he shrugged and nodded. "Door's gonna stay locked," he warned. 

Dean nodded and turned to leave. Before he got out, Bobby yelled, "Tell that fool of a brother of yours to get up here. I want to talk to him."

Dean waved tiredly. He stopped by his house first to get supplies. If he was going to spend a few days in the dungeons, he was going to have clean clothes, at least. He also took the opportunity to shave and wash himself. No point in stinking before spending time enclosed in a small room with another guy.

Sam and Castiel were looking at a picture book when Dean got back. He was relieved to see that there were two plates of half-eaten food next to Castiel's mattress. Obviously, he was being treated well. 

Sam closed the book when Dean entered. He looked at Dean's bag in surprise. "Bobby's making you stay in here?" he asked. 

"Not exactly," Dean shrugged. "He wants to talk to you."

"Probably about selecting a new chief," Sam said. "We need to do that soon." He got to his feet and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. "See you later."

"Goodbye, Sam," Castiel said. Once Sam was gone and the door was shut, he turned his attention to Dean. "Hello Dean."

"Hey," Dean said, dumping his bag next to the bed. "Bobby's not letting you out just yet, so I figured I'd stay with you and keep you company."

Castiel tilted his head. "You did?"

"Yep." Castiel was looking at him strangely, and for a second, Dean thought he'd made a mistake. But then Castiel smiled. He didn't smile that often. Dean didn't know whether it was because he couldn't smile as a dragon or if it was just in his nature, but either way, Dean knew his smiles were always genuine.

*

However much he'd like to think that spending an indeterminate time in the dungeons would be easy, it was not. It was extremely confining, and for Castiel it was even more so because his hands were still secured to the wall. On the third day, Dean threw a fit and got them to remove the manacles. He wrapped bandages around Castiel's wrists where they'd chafed him.

The dungeons were also extremely boring. Their days were spent teaching Castiel new words and checking to make sure he was healing properly. Sam visited and brought their meals every day, but other than that they were alone. 

In theory, Dean should have grown to hate Castiel, or at least get annoyed with him constantly. He'd spent days cooped up alone with Sam when they were younger and hated every minute. Strangely enough, even though it was confining and boring and repetitive, he didn't mind. Which led him to only one conclusion: Dean had it bad. He had no idea how he kept it together, especially at night, when Castiel was a warm line against his body. Dean couldn't stop his hands from finding their way into Castiel's hair, and he definitely couldn't stop his heart from lurching every time Castiel blinked awake or dug his face into Dean's neck while he was sleeping. 

After they'd been in the dungeons for six days, Sam came in the morning as always, but this time he hadn't brought any food. "There's a new chief?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "And..." Dean prompted. 

Sam broke into a grin. "She's letting you out. She's on her way."

"She's here," a dry voice said from the doorway.

Ellen Harvelle was a good choice, and from the way she held herself, confident and secure, she knew it. Dean had always been a little afraid of her, and when she looked him over, he stood quickly. Beside him, Castiel also rose to his feet. Instantly, her eyes zeroed in on him. "Your name's Castiel?"

Castiel nodded. He looked wary. "Yes. Hello."

"I'm Ellen," she said. If she felt strange talking to him, it didn't show. "Now, I'm prepared to let you out of here, but you have to follow some rules."

Castiel glanced at Dean. "She means you have to do what she says," Dean explained. Castiel turned back to her. 

"All right. You have to stay in human form. You can't call the dragons down on us, and you can't walk around by yourself. Someone has to be with you at all times. And you have to stay in the village." The last was said more to Dean than Castiel, and Dean sighed. They were pretty tame, as restrictions went. "Do you understand?"

After a long moment, Castiel said, "I will do as you say."

"Let's shake on it." She held out her hand. To Dean's surprise, Castiel didn't hesitate and took her hand as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Judging from Sam's beaming face, he'd taught Castiel that while Dean had been a drooling mess. 

Sam helped them carry the box of books and the rest of Dean's things to their house. Dean was practically skipping, he was so excited. Castiel looked around the town with interest. They drew a lot of curious looks, but nobody screamed or ran at them with sharp objects, so Dean thought releasing Castiel was, if not a popular opinion, at least not an unpopular one. 

Sam left them when they reached the house. "There's food inside," he told them. "I've got to go - Ellen asked me to help her with some stuff, so I'll see you guys later."

Dean showed Castiel around the house. As he had in the town, Castiel looked at everything with curiosity. He ran his fingers lightly over everything. 

Dean left his room for last. "So, this is my room," he said, gesturing to the general state of disarray. Castiel nodded and turned around in the center, taking it in. "Cas, you know you don't have to stay here," Dean said. "I can sneak you out at night, and you can call a dragon and fly to your home, or wherever you want."

"I want to stay here, with you," Castiel replied quickly. 

"What?" Dean asked. "You don't mean that." Castiel's back was literally covered in fresh wounds because of him.

Castiel tilted his head and furrowed his brow slightly. He crossed the room until he was standing only a few inches from Dean. To Dean's shock and amazement, he stretched up and kissed Dean chastely on the lips. He took Dean's hand and held it to his heart. Dean could feel it beating even through the bandages.

"Love," Castiel said, and smiled. 

There was only one answer Dean could give. He bent down to kiss Castiel properly. 

He'd been right. Castiel did taste like fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE! YAY! NOW I CAN DO OTHER THINGS!
> 
> I still haven't figured out how ratings works, so if you think the rating should be raised please let me know I'll be happy to change it.


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